


Monster

by Robin_tCJ



Series: Monsterverse [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst and Porn, Barebacking, Bondage, Bottom Tony, Edging, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Internal Kink Shaming, Internalized Kink Shaming, Kink, Kink Discovery, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masturbation, Moving In Together, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Restraints, Rimming, Self-Doubt, Sex Toys, Spreader Bars, Top Steve, informed consent, safe words, spreader bar, talking about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-24 10:39:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10740018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_tCJ/pseuds/Robin_tCJ
Summary: Steve is moving into Tony's penthouse and insists they go through old boxes of Tony's things to find out what should stay and what should go to make room for Steve's things. But the boxes contain more than just old clothes and Christmas decorations, and it leads to a shocking discovery for Steve.It, of course, leads to sex.Eventually.





	Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [R!Bang Artwork, Team: Rogers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10755108) by [clobeast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clobeast/pseuds/clobeast). 



> This fic was inspired by a beautiful, wonderful, fantastic art piece by the indomitable [clobeast](http://archiveofourown.org/users/clobeast/pseuds/clobeast/works), who has more talent in the tip of her nose than I do in my entire being, and I'm pretty okay with that because it means she draws the prettiest things in the world and I get to look at them. 
> 
> So, thanks, clobeast, for the [gorgeous art that inspired this filth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10755108). I mean, loving, emotional filth, but still filth. Go to the link to see it in its glory and let her know how amazing it is!!
> 
> Also, thanks to [dapperanachronism](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperanachronism/pseuds/dapperanachronism/works) for your wonderful beta work again!

“Seriously, Steve. I’m a billionaire genius engineer. I have more money than I know what to do with, and I build robots for stress relief. So, please, tell me again, _why_ is it you’re physically carrying boxes up to the penthouse?”

Steve bites the corner of his bottom lip to keep from grinning, his steps not faltering. He places the box in the center of the living room with the others. He doesn’t have a lot of possessions, so there aren’t really that many boxes to carry. But what he has, he values.

“I can do it myself. I have super strength, Tony,” he shrugs.“Lifting boxes isn’t a hardship.”

Tony flops down on the sofa, sinking into the fluffy cushions. He rolls his eyes, huffing out a sigh but his attention never leaves Steve. “I’m just saying, what’s the point in being able to afford movers and-slash-or build robots specifically designed to move boxes if we’re not going to make use of that ability?”

Steve moves over to the sofa. Standing between Tony’s spread knees and bracing his hands on the back, he leans into Tony’s space.

“Not everything has to be about money,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of Tony’s nose. Tony wrinkles it in distaste, and Steve chuckles.

“You know, fine. It’s fine,” Tony says, leaning back on the couch, his eyes deliberately focusing in on the way Steve’s muscles move. “I can look at the upshot of this – even if my boyfriend won’t let me hire people to move his possessions into my penthouse –”

“ _Our_ penthouse,” Steve interrupts him.

“ _Our_ penthouse,” Tony continues with a feigned glare. “There is still a glass-half-full scenario here.”

“Yeah?”

Tony grins up at him. “Yeah. I get to watch my ridiculously attractive boyfriend do manual labour and get all sweaty.”

Steve affects a disappointed glare. “Really, Tony?”

“Oh, yeah. There’s a whole, you know, manservant vibe going on here,” Tony says, mouth twitching as he tries to keep a straight face. “Sweaty, sweaty manservant. I can work with that.”

Steve’s grin takes on a predatory gleam, and he leans back into Tony’s space, eyes dark, trapping Tony between the couch and his body. “Yeah? That’s working for you?”

“You have no idea,” Tony says with a nod, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. Steve leans in further, so close he can feel Tony’s breath ghost across his face. He stops, meeting Tony’s eyes, and smirks.

Tony lets out a low groan and his breathing speeds up. He tips his chin up, inviting Steve to kiss him. Steve waits a beat, then abruptly stands up, heading back toward the stack of boxes in the middle of the room. “Good,” he says. “Then you won’t mind helping me decide where to start putting things.”

Tony blinks owlishly at him, then flops his head back into the top of the sofa, heaving a deep sigh. “You are the worst. You’re going to go out of your way to drive me insane living here, aren’t you?”

“That was the plan,” Steve says with a nod.

Tony stands up and heads for the kitchen, still grumbling.

“Seriously, Tony. Where should I put these?”

“What, the boxes? I don’t know,” Tony calls back. A moment later, he comes back with two mugs of steaming black coffee in his hands. He hands one to Steve without a word, and Steve leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead in thanks. Tony rolls his eyes again, but Steve catches the way the corner of his mouth twitches up in a hint of a smile as he surveys the stack. “Where do you want to put them? What’s _in_ them?”

Steve shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. “Clothes. Keepsakes. Books. Art supplies. You know, normal stuff.”

Tony opens the flaps on the top box, peering inside. He blinks, looks up at Steve, then back down to the contents of the box. “Normal stuff,” Tony say says flatly.

“Yes,” Steve agrees

“This is a box of charcoal nubs.”

“Yes.”

“Used charcoal nubs.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you have this?” Tony asks in confused disbelief.

Steve shrugs one shoulder, taking another swallow. “They’re still good.”

“It’s an entire box of charcoal nubs. Not, you know, usable charcoal.”

“They’re my charcoal nubs and they’re perfectly good,” Steve argues, putting his mug down and moving toward the stack of boxes. He closes the flaps on the box full of charcoal nubs and pulls it away from Tony with a glare. “Where can I put them?”

Tony blinks at him, then gives his head a little shake. Steve knows that means Tony will save mocking him for another time. Probably when he least expects it. But he doesn’t care – the nubs _are_ still perfectly good. For projects that don’t need a lot of precision. There’s no reason to throw them out.

Tony heads down the hall, and Steve follows with the box held out in front of him.

“There are ten rooms in the penthouse,” Tony says. “Two of them are bathrooms, and two of them are bedrooms. There’s the living room and the kitchen and the office. That leaves three rooms to choose from.”

Tony points to three closed doors in the hallway. “I haven’t been in these rooms for years. You can claim whichever one you want for an art studio, and do whatever you want with the other two.”

Steve furrows his brow. “What do you mean, you haven’t been in them for years?”

Tony shrugs. “I mean I haven’t opened the door and stepped inside. Why would I? I spend all my time in the bedroom or in my workshop downstairs.”

“But – but what’s in them?”

“Hell if I know.” Tony pushes the first door open and pokes his head in. Steve can’t help coming up behind him and looking in over Tony’s head. “Huh. I have third bedroom.”

“It would appear that you do,” Steve answers, still not sure how it’s possible to just _forget_ one has another bedroom. It’s a simple room, big and airy with a king-sized bed, a small sitting area, and modern furniture.

“So this could be an art room,” Tony says, leaning back a little into Steve’s body heat. Steve shifts the box into one arm so he can press closer into the contact, his hand dropping to Tony’s waist without thought.

“It’s a nice room,” Steve says. “We should keep it like this.”

“What for?”

“For company.”

Tony tips his head up to meet Steve’s eyes, face unimpressed. “I own a whole tower, Steven,” he says flatly. “It is full of guest suites. Big, fancy, fully-stocked guest suites. Stark Tower is outfitted better than some hotels. We don’t need company to stay _here_ with us.”

Steve shrugs. “Still.”

“If we have company, we can’t have loud sex. Completely sexless existence.”

Steve blinks and concedes the point with a frown. “Okay, fine. No spare bedroom. But there isn’t enough natural light to make it an art room. So we’ll figure something out.”

Tony sighs and steps back, closing the door to the room and heading for the next door. “Any guesses?”

Steve grins, putting the box down so he can place both hands on Tony’s shoulders, letting his thumbs flick against the skin on the back of Tony’s neck, enjoying the little shiver it causes. “I wouldn’t even know where to start on the list of things you could possibly have stored behind that door and forgotten about.”

“Come on. Maybe it’s a games room!”

It’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes. “Tony, it’s you. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find an elaborate corn maze in there. Or one of those fancy hologram rooms like on Star Trek.”

“If I had a Holodeck, Steven, I would know it. I absolutely would know it,” Tony sighs, opening the door.

The room is full of boxes.

Completely full of boxes. Boxes stacked four high, piles upon piles. They’re all folded shut, unsealed, and unmarked.

“I’m feeling a little bit let down,” Tony says, blinking. “I was kind of hoping for a Holodeck.”

Steve quickly steps into the room. It smells slightly musty. Not dusty, because of course Tony’s cleaning bots wouldn’t stand for that, but it smells like no one’s been inside for a long while.

“What _is_ all this?” Steve asks, gazing around the room.

“Uh…”

“You have no idea, do you?”

“I do not,” Tony admits. “Must be some kind of junk. I haven’t missed it until now, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Tony…”

“No, seriously, Steve. You know I’m not – there’s no point being sentimental about stuff. It doesn’t matter. It’s just a bunch of boxes. Get rid of them. Donate them to the poor or something, that’s a thing you like to do, right?” The sudden sharpness in Tony’s tone is stinging – or it would be if Steve hadn’t already been aware of how prickly Tony could get about some parts of his past. Some, he didn’t mind so much, Steve had spent hours curled up in bed, tracing lines across Tony’s bare shoulders as Tony regaled him with tales of things he’d gotten up to in his younger days. But other things…

Still, Steve liked learning more about Tony, the good and the bad about the man he’d fallen in love with. “We should at least –”

“Nope.”

“What do you mean, ‘nope’?”

“I mean,” Tony says, crossing his arms, “nope. I don’t know what’s in these boxes and I don’t care. Get rid of it, turn the room into an art studio.”

Steve frowns at him. “The lighting _is_ good, Tony, but…”

“No buts. The room is yours. I know _you_ don’t need to keep the boxes, so I’ll get the bots to trash ‘em.”

“No.”

Tony blinks at him. “That’s my line.”

“You can’t just get rid of all these boxes without at least going through them. It could be important. It could be photos, keepsakes, or…” Steve trails off, seeing Tony’s unimpressed glare. “It could be patent applications. Maybe designs you forgot you drew up.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “You’re playing dirty.”

Steve knows he’s won, so he grins. “It could be _armour designs_.”

Tony huffs and rolls his eyes. “Fine. Laying it on a little thick, there, Cap, but fine. We’ll glance in a few of the boxes and see what they are.”

“Good,” Steve says, pulling one off the top of a stack immediately. He starts unfolding the top flaps.

“But if we don’t find anything interesting in the first two boxes, we’re getting rid of all of it.”

Steve gives him a measuring glance. “Five,” he counters.

Tony meets his eye, obviously trying to decide if he can barter Steve down a little more. “Four,” he finally says.

Steve nods once, the movement sharp and sure. “Four boxes. And I get to decide what’s interesting.”

“You are going to owe me blowjobs, Rogers. So many blowjobs.”

“A tragedy,” Steve said flatly as he rolls his eyes and finishes opening the box. He pulls out the first few items – they’re clothing. Nice, obviously expensive clothing, but clothing nonetheless.

Tony smirks. “Oh, look, clothes from the nineties.”

“Tony…”

“Nope. That’s one box down, three to go.”

“So, you don’t want any of these?” Steve says, quirking an eyebrow up as he pulls out a strange pair of pants, the fabric shiny and dark. The hips and thighs balloon out, but the fabric tapers down to a much smaller ankle.

Tony snickers. “Thank you, Steve, but no. No, I do not want an old pair of Hammer pants.”

Steve shrugs. “Probably wouldn’t do much for your behind, anyway.”

Tony makes a wounded sound. “I have a _lovely_ behind,” he says.

“I agree,” Steve says, holding the pants up again. “But if you were wearing these, who would know it?”

“Point,” Tony says. “Fine. What’s in box number two?”

Steve pointed at a random box, and Tony rolled his eyes – _again_ – before unfolding the top and peering inside.

“So? What’s the verdict?” Steve asked.

Tony grinned up at him. “Box number two is even less interesting than box number one.” He pulled his hand out with a flourish, holding a bag of brightly-coloured bows. “Christmas decorations.”

Steve sighs, feeling a little disappointed. He’d kind of hoped for something interesting in Tony’s boxes. He’s not sure what – something that would make going through them worth the trouble. That, and he hates the idea of giving up after four boxes and just getting rid of everything else. He’d been sure Tony would have more interesting possessions.

“Okay, Steve. Two down. Pick a box and prepare to be disappointed once more.”

Steve sighs and glances around the room, trying to pick the most interesting box. There’s a smallish one off to the side – it’s not in a pile at all, and Steve thinks that might be a positive sign. He gestures toward it. “That one.”

“That box?” Tony shakes his head. “It’s small – there can’t be anything good in that one. Pick a different one.”

“No, it looks interesting. All lonesome and quiet in the corner. It’s the exact opposite of Tony Stark, it’s gotta be good.”

“I don’t know why I put up with this emotional blackmail from you.”

“Because I can bench press you.”

“Ah. That’s why.”

“Open the box, Tony.”

Tony rolls his eyes and moves over to the box. He picks it up, sets it on top of a stack, and opens it up to look inside.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Steve’s about to question the contents, but Tony lets out a bark of laughter.

“Is it good?” Steve asks, a sly grin spreading across his face.

“You have _no_ idea,” Tony says, closing the box back up.

“Hey, wait –”

“Don’t worry, Steve, I’ll show you. I’ll be right back.” Tony snickers to himself as he leaves the room, leaving Steve staring in his wake.

Well, Tony had said he’d come back. So Steve picks another box at random and opens it up.

It’s empty save for a French Victorian powdered wig. Steve blinks at it for a few moments, then closes the box. He has no explanation for that one, and wouldn’t even want to hazard a guess.

“Ahem.” Steve’s head jerks up, and he catches sight of Tony in the doorway. He’s changed – he’s taken his shirt off, and around his wrists and neck are heavy leather cuffs and a collar. They have soft, cream-coloured faux fur lining spilling out the sides. Tony is grinning, and Steve can feel his face heat up. That’s – that’s cuffs. A collar. So Tony could be – what, tied up? Tied down? He doesn’t – God, how could –

“It’s been such a long time. I can’t believe I still _have_ some of this stuff,” Tony says with a grin, glancing down at his wrists. Steve’s eye is drawn to the little chrome ring on the front of the wide leather collar. It looks like a – like a latch. For a leash.

“What do you think, Cap?” Tony continues, oblivious to Steve’s distress. “Still my style?”

Steve feels a rush in his head, like his blood pressure might be dropping out the bottom or possibly crashing through the top.

“T-Tony…” he doesn’t know what to say. All he can see is that little ring, reflecting light from Tony’s arc reactor. “Um.”

Tony’s eyes flick to the floor, and Steve can see his body language hunch up. But Tony smiles – it’s the brittle, dead smile he gives reporters and board members. Steve can feel this moment sliding sideways, but he can’t stop it. “If you think this is gross, you should… probably steer clear of any Google searches with the keywords ‘Tony Stark’ and ‘sex tape.’”

Steve still can’t force words out his throat. His face is hot with shame, and he turns on his heel and stalks past Tony, out of the room. Tony gives him a wide berth, and Steve hates it, hates the way Tony’s face is twisted into that parody of a smile, the way his eyes won’t quite meet Steve’s own, the way his long, elegant fingers clench into fists as though to force him into holding it together for just a few more moments – whatever ‘it’ might be.

And Steve’s the one who put that look on his face. But he can’t help it – Tony had come in with those cuffs, that collar, and Steve’s imagination had been bombarded with images of Tony _using_ them, Tony _being_ used, and he couldn’t _stand_ it. He’d had to get out of there.

He makes his way to the emergency stairs and rushes down them, back to his apartment. Is it still his apartment? He hadn’t actually finished moving into Tony’s penthouse, and now – now, why would Tony want him to?

 _Coward,_ he thinks to himself.

_Monster._

 

+++++

 

He can’t stop thinking about it. He knows he should stop. He knows that it’s not fair to Tony, to be thinking these things. But at the same time, he can’t stop picturing those cuffs. That collar.

What they’re used for.

It’s wrong. He _knows_ it’s wrong. But he also knows he loves Tony, and Tony won’t think any less of him for thinking what he’s thinking. Tony, of all people, knows how the mind can run away on tangents, welcome or not.

He only stays in his apartment for a couple of hours. When he goes back up to the penthouse, it’s with the last of his boxes. If Tony turns him away, then he’ll – well, he’ll fight, he’ll fight tooth and nail, but he’ll try to understand.

He takes a deep breath as the elevator doors open, and he steps out into the living area. Tony is lounging on the sofa, a tumbler of scotch to his right, a tablet in his left hand. He barely glances up when Steve comes in, his fingers swiping and tapping on the tablet with a speed and precision that always fascinates Steve.

“Hey, Steve,” he says, voice calm and cool. Steve blinks. He’d thought Tony would be angry at him. Honestly, he thinks he deserves it. But Tony’s not mad. Tony seems, more or less, indifferent.

“Look, Tony, I’m sorry about –”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony says, voice smooth and crisp. “Nothing to apologize for.”

Steve knows that’s not true. He’d run away. He’d seen those cuffs and that collar, and he’d run in the opposite direction because he had no idea where the mental images that assaulted his brain had come from. Images of Tony spread out, locked down, leashed. Steve knows it’s wrong. Terrible. But he should have stayed. He should have stood fast, should have trusted Tony not to...

But he hadn’t.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I really am sorry.”

“Already forgotten,” Tony says, reaching over and taking hold of the crystal glass at his elbow. He takes a slow draught from it, chasing the taste off his own lips after he swallows. Steve watches, trying not to think about the action in context with the restraints that had been in that box.

“I sent the rest of those boxes to Goodwill,” Tony tells him, tossing the tablet on the cushion beside him. “The cleaning bots are going to do a formal sweep-down of the room and then you can set up your art stuff.”

“You didn’t – you didn’t go through the rest?”

Tony shrugs. “No point, really. Nothing interesting in them.”

Steve knows he should be upset, that there could have been important possessions in those boxes, but he doesn’t have the heart to argue about that right now.

“We really should talk about what –”

“No.”

“Tony, we can’t just ignore –”

“I’m serious, Steve. We’re not going to talk about it. It’s _better_ if we don’t talk about it. For both of us.”

Steve feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment. Tony _had_ known what Steve had been thinking. And, of course, he doesn’t walk to talk about it. Doesn’t want to hear what Steve has to say about it. To know what’s in Steve’s head.

“Are you – I mean, I understand. If you don’t want to – I just, I just wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have –”

“It’s fine,” Tony says, his voice slightly tense. “Let’s just drop it. Today’s supposed to be a happy day. You moved in. We’re officially cohabiting.”

Steve sighs. He doesn’t like the clipped tone in Tony’s words, but he doesn’t know how to soothe it without talking about the – the things Tony doesn’t want to talk about.

Clearly, Tony doesn’t want to know what Steve thinks about the restraints. About Tony wearing them – and that’s fine. Steve knows that’s fine. Knows that he shouldn’t be thinking about it at all, anyway.

 

+++++

 

Of course, Steve still can’t stop himself from thinking about it. About what Tony had in that box. About what he’d said. About what he may have meant when he’d mentioned the sex tape.

Tony had said Steve would think it was ‘gross.’ And he did. He _does_. But… there’s a little flare, there. Just a hint. Of what Tony would be like, spread out and helpless and at Steve’s mercy.

He needs to stop picturing it. He _needs_ to. It’s horrible. Steve is – he’s a good person. Even before the serum, he tried to be a good person. He fought _against_ the bullies. People who want power over others, who _relish_ it, they’re not good people. Steve knows that. He knows it down to his bones.

But he still can’t get the image out of his mind. Of Tony tied down, bound and compliant and _Steve’s_.

He tries to pretend there’s nothing wrong, but he knows Tony’s noticed.

He just doesn’t know what to do about it.

 

+++++

 

It takes him a few weeks of self-flagellation and inner turmoil, but eventually Steve has to know more. He’s not completely innocent – he’s been dating Tony Stark, but even before that, he’d known there were more … varied types of sex than he was having. But he’d been adjusting to so much – computers and microwaves and cell phones and homosexuality being accepted – he hadn’t taken the time to learn about them.

Now he makes the time. He waits until Tony’s gone for a meeting in Japan. He’ll be gone four days, so Steve will have plenty of time to get this all out of his system, and get back to normal in his relationship with Tony. To get over all the sick and twisted thoughts that plague him.

He pulls out his StarkPad and opens a browser window. He stares blankly at it for a moment, then takes a deep breath and begins to type in the search field.

“Wrist cuffs sex,” he types.

The list comes back with, mostly, shopping websites. Which makes Steve’s face heat instantly. That people would just, just go ahead and buy this stuff.

He clicks on the fourth link at random. “Handcuffs and restraints,” he reads. “Sex toys and bondage gear.” His face still aflame, he looks up at the ceiling while he waits for it to load.

He takes one look at the page, with its photos of women, naked and tied down, in various positions, its images of whips and handcuffs and, oh, god, is that a riding crop? He tosses the pad on the cushion beside him.

“Dammit.”

He can’t look at this. He _can’t_. He’s not a sexual deviant. It’s not – he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to hurt Tony.

It’s bad enough he wants to make Tony helpless.

God, he’s disgusting.

 _Monster_.

He rests his head in his hands for a long moment, trying to fight off the rising panic, the fluttering in his chest, the sense of breathlessness. He can do this. He _needs_ to do this. Once he understands, once he knows more about the whole thing, the idea, he can get over it. Shove it to the back of his mind and never think of it again. Get back to being what Tony loves – a good man.

He reaches for the StarkPad again. He’s always been a determined guy. Tony would call it stubborn, but Steve prefers to think of it as determined. He starts scrolling through the page, trying to decide what draws his eye.

There’s a woman strapped down to a bed, posed with her legs spread open. Steve likes that one – it’s awful, but he can picture Tony like that, spread out and writhing.

Another woman is on her knees, bent down, her wrists locked between her ankles, cuffs on each limb. She’s completely exposed, completely at the mercy of whoever might be nearby.

He _really_ likes that one.

He scrolls past the gags – he knows most people would find it fun to make Tony stop talking, but Steve not-so-secretly loves the dirty things Tony says to him when they’re in bed together.

He blinks at what looks like some kind of leather pocket that is shown on a model’s penis, keeping it tucked in. He glances at the title. Chastity device.

Nope. No way. Steve wants Tony to feel every single bit of sensation Steve has to offer him. The last thing he wants to do is minimize Tony’s pleasure.

The collar and leash, though. Steve can’t tear his eyes away from that one for long moments. He thinks of Tony, thick cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Not attached to anything, just there. And the collar, heavy and dark, attached to the leash. How he could tug Tony to the bed, lead him anywhere, and Tony would come, wouldn’t question it.

_Fuck._

He’s hard, now. His cock twitches in his pants, and he shifts on the sofa, trying to will his erection down.

He knows he’s made a mistake. Instead of satisfying his curiosity and helping him to stop thinking of overpowering Tony, of – of _dominating_ him, dammit, just admit it – having Tony at his mercy, all his research has done is given him mental images to guide his fantasies.

He knows it’s wrong. To want to control someone like that. To want to tie Tony down and degrade him like that.

But now, he can’t stop.

He shifts again.

He’ll Google one more thing. Just one. And then he’ll put it all out of his mind, he’ll never act on his sick desires again. Things will go back to normal, and Tony won’t ever have to know Steve’s shameful secret.

He closes his eyes, tries to shove down the guilt.

He types.

“Tony Stark sex tape.”

He shouldn’t be doing this. Not only is it a violation of Tony’s privacy, but it’s – Tony had said that if Steve thought the cuffs and collar were ‘gross’ he would think worse of the sex tape. Of course, Tony doesn’t know that to Steve, it had been anything but gross. That _Steve_ is the gross one, the kind of person who … the kind of person who would like that.

Most of the links that come up are gossip articles. Browsing, Steve learns that the sex tape is from Tony’s very early twenties. The photos beside the articles are unflattering snapshots of Tony, and it makes Steve’s heart hurt. He can tell by the glassy-eyed stare in them that this was during what Tony calls his ‘Blue Label Period,’ when he spent his days soaked in alcohol and his nights flying in pharmaceuticals.

Tony doesn’t talk about it much, but Steve can see from the photos, that he was nothing more than a shadow of himself, desperate to numb the pain of losing his parents and being thrust into the spotlight as the face of Stark Industries. Steve hates the look in those eyes.

He keeps scrolling, and he finally finds a link that looks like it might go to a video file.

It’s shaky, the picture fuzzy and dark. The camera takes a moment to focus, and then it finally settles on a pale, bony shoulder. It pulls back, and there’s Tony. He’s young – his face has no lines, no signature manicured beard. His eyes are big and dark in his narrow face, his cheeks are soft, and his hair is a fluffy mop of curls.

His lips are kiss-swollen, red and slick, and his cheeks are flushed and bright. He’s grinning at the camera, eyes half-closed, trying to appear sultry. Everything is angular about him, like a sharp, skittish bird, but that smile is genuine.

The camera backs up again, and Steve can see that Tony is lying on his back, bare chested, with his arms spread out to the side. His wrists are decorated with shining steel handcuffs, locking him to the sides of the headboard of the bed. It looks like a hotel suite – a nice suite, but still impersonal.

Tony smirks at the camera. “Don’t tease, Monica,” he says, pulling at his wrist to rattle the cuffs.

“Don’t speak unless spoken to, Tony,” comes the voice of a woman. It’s low, husky, like whisky. The camera angle changes, moves, and then stops. The woman has put it down on the table beside the bed so it captures Tony from the knees up, spread out and tied down, and her from the neck down, wearing nothing but a black lace camisole. It’s from the side, so Steve can see the curve of her hip, her thigh as she straddles Tony’s hips, but not much else. Her long red hair falls into the frame, but she’s careful to keep her face out of view of the camera.

“Come on, Monica,” Tony says, his voice breathy as he pushes his hips up. She reaches back and delivers a stinging slap to his thigh, and he groans at it. She ignores that, and leans forward to take one of his tiny pink nipples in between her fingers and gives it a little twist.

Steve’s mouth goes dry. He knows he should be feeling something like jealousy. That’s Tony. _His_ Tony. But – it’s also not. This Tony is hardly more than a child, not the sharp, fully-formed man Steve loves. His Tony is different from this. His Tony has lived a full life, with ups and downs and saving the world three or four times. His Tony has a mischievous glint to his eye that the Tony on the StarkPad screen hasn’t earned yet.

So Steve’s not feeling jealous. He is, however, having a very strong reaction to the little gasp that falls out of Tony’s lips when his nipple is flicked, the way he throws his head back and thrusts his hips up again.

The woman, Monica, chuckles throatily and shifts her weight, walking on her knees up Tony’s body, until she can loop her legs under his arms and push her sex toward his face.

“You don’t get off til I get off,” she tells him, voice warm but hard as nails.

Tony’s head shifts, and Monica moans, leaning back and scraping her long red nails up Tony’s torso. With her up at his head, straddling his face like that, Steve can see the way Tony’s cock twitches, a little bead of moisture at the tip. She twists at both his nipples, and his hips thrust, cock jumping again.

Steve’s eyes are wide. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here, watching this, but he’s finally realized what’s kept him so entranced.

Tony’s _enjoying_ it.

He’s not – he’s not trying to get away. He’s not feeling attacked, or assaulted, or inferior.

Steve reaches out and touches the middle of the screen, pausing the streaming video. Tony’s back is arched, sharp hip bones pressing up, tight little belly sunken in as he tries to push his face further into Monica’s crotch.

Steve’s breathing hard, and his eyes roam over every inch of the Tony on the screen. Everything about his body screams ‘pleasure.’ How much he wants this.

What Tony is feeling on that screen is _need._

He takes a deep breath, knowing he shouldn’t but unable to stop himself, and starts the playback again. He watches as Monica throws her head back, making little gasping sounds as she comes.

Tony’s body bows, like he’s trying to get some friction, some sensation other than air on his cock, but he can’t. Then Steve hears it – a needy little whine, a breathy whimper, a sound he’s never heard Tony make but it makes Steve moan aloud. He can’t help but press the heel of his hand to his erection, straining against his jeans. The pressure only makes it worse, makes him want more, and as guilty as he feels about it, he allows himself to unzip his fly, open the button, and pull himself out.

He’s rock-hard. Tony is moaning again, but Steve closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see what Monica does, doesn’t care about her – he wants to hear those noises. Wants to hear Tony coming apart.

He’s not disappointed. Tony’s voice echoes in the empty penthouse, desperate and needy, begging in broken sentences and cries.

Steve comes embarrassingly fast, his mind supplying images to go with those sounds – of _him_ tying Tony down, of _him_ touching him, loving him, drowning him in sensation and touch until every skin cell is thrumming with need and desire. Until all Tony can think about is Steve, about how Steve makes him feel. Until Tony can give up complete control, hand it to Steve on a silver platter and let Steve take him over entirely.

He’s blushing when he cleans himself up, heart pounding in his chest.

He’s ashamed, of course. Still not sure what it says about him, that he’d watched and listened to that video, that he wants to tie Tony down and take his power and control from him, to make him forget everything but pleasure at Steve’s hands.

But he knows, now, that he wants it enough to admit it to Tony. It’s terrifying, but Tony loves him. Steve has to trust that means something. And the Tony in the video… _that_ Tony wouldn’t have thought him a deviant for those desires.

 _That_ Tony would want it just as much as Steve does.

 

+++++

 

It’s a long wait until Tony gets back from Japan. He calls from the Stark Industries private jet, sounding tired and worn and jetlagged already.

“I am quitting. I’m going to retire, Steve. No more. No more Stark Industries, no more Iron Man, no more Avengers. I’m just going to be one of those cranky old men who tinkers in my garage and complains about kids on my lawn. Do you think two hours’ notice is enough for Pepper?”

“Pepper deserves better than that, and you don’t have a lawn,” Steve says, unable to wipe the grin off his face. “You have a concrete sidewalk. But technically I think it belongs to the city.”

“No, Steve, it’s mine, and there are kids on it. You’re, like, 90, Steven, you of all people should understand my biological imperative to keep pesky kids off the lawn.”

“I was frozen for 70 years, Stark, it doesn’t count. I’m still young and virile.”

“Oh, it counts. You remember the Depression, you go to the V.A. and reminisce about the good old days, back when you could pull up a stool at the soda shoppe, that’s S-H-O-P-P-E, because in the forties you had too many letters and not enough sense, and get a cherry Coke for five cents, when you had malts that weren’t single malt scotch, and the world was sepia toned. It counts, and you’re 90.”

By the time Tony finishes his rant, Steve’s outright laughing, but Tony’s voice sounds less tired already, so he takes the abuse graciously.

“You almost home?” he says after a moment.

“Just about. Another hour? Why, you miss me?”

“Constantly.”

“As you should, I’m incredibly enjoyable to be around.”

Steve snorts a laugh. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“You can’t get enough of me,” Tony says archly.

“That’s true,” Steve admits, grinning. “See you in an hour?”

“Maybe I’ll go give the pilot a kick in the pants, see if I can’t speed things up a touch. I might have missed you too. A little. Kind of.”

“Just relax, Tony. Get some rest while you can. Got any plans when you get home?”

“Thought I might debauch my boyfriend.”

“Yeah?”

“Or Mario Kart with Dummy. You know, whichever. I can’t decide which might be most interesting.”

“I’m not acknowledging that. See you soon, Tony.”

“See you soon, Steve.”

Steve taps the disconnect button on his phone and looks around. The bedroom is clean, and he’s taken the time to set candles up all over the room. There’s a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge, but he’d found one of those fancy steel buckets to chill it closer to when Tony gets home.

He’s also left a simple white box, tied with a black ribbon, on the bed. He’s still conflicted about that one – maybe they should sit down and talk and actually decide something before Steve brings that out? But he wants Tony to know he’s serious. He wants Tony to know how much he wants this.

But he also doesn’t want to guilt Tony into it, make him do it even if he doesn’t want to just to make Steve happy.

He’s pacing nervously, he knows, but he can’t stop himself. When Tony gets home, when they can talk, it will be better. He’ll be calmer.

And hopefully, he’s right and Tony won’t be disgusted at Steve’s suggestion.

 

+++++

 

“The first thing I’m doing is showering, and then you’re going to welcome me home with –” Tony walks into the room yanking at his tie, shrugging his jacket off, but comes to a stop when he notices the room. Steve’s lit the candles and turned the lights low, but he wasn’t sure what to do with _himself_ without feeling awkward, so he’s just sitting on the edge of the bed, jeans and a T-shirt and bare feet.

“Welcome home to me,” Tony grins, waggling his eyebrows. “You _did_ miss me.”

“I – uh, can – can we talk?” Steve’s heart is in his throat. He’d thought he was ready, he thought this would be easy, but seeing Tony, actually being in the same room as him, makes Steve nervous again. He doesn’t want to mess this up. Doesn’t want to give Tony any reason to feel weird around him, or _about_ him.

Tony’s face falls, shuts down, and he stops tugging at his tie.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not – it’s not bad. I don’t think. I just… I just want to talk to you about something.”

Tony studies him for a long moment. “Do I have time to shower? I smell like airport.”

“You fly in a private jet.”

“Which lands at an airport,” Tony points out.

Steve rolls his eyes, but the banter puts him a little more at ease. He gives Tony a gentle smile, hoping his nerves aren’t too obvious on his face.

“You have time for a shower,” he says. “Have you eaten? I can –”

“I could use a sandwich?” Tony says, but the way he says it makes Steve think that maybe he’s not really that hungry, but he can tell Steve would appreciate a task, something to do with his hands so he doesn’t have to sit here and stew and think about the conversation they’re about to have. He stands gratefully and steps forward into Tony’s space.

“Pastrami okay?”

“Pastrami is definitely okay,” Tony says with a nod. Steve takes another step closer and leans in, leans down, but allows Tony to close the distance between them. Their lips meet gently at first, just a brush of mouths, but Steve deepens the kiss.

If nothing else, if Tony doesn’t want to try – that… Steve’s still happy to have this.

Tony sighs a little when he pulls back, and his eyes are a little softer than they were a moment ago. “Thanks,” he says.

“Any time,” Steve answers.

“Careful, or you’ll be making me sandwiches at three in the morning every day.”

Steve shrugs on his way out the door. “You’re the one who has a schedule, I can sleep all day if I want.”

“Freeloader!” Tony accuses, but Steve’s already halfway down the hall to the kitchen, his heart still thumping steadily, but his nerves have eased somewhat.

It’s Tony. Even if Tony doesn’t want to try it, Steve knows it won’t cause a problem between them. He thinks.

He puts together two sandwiches, because, really, he’s always hungry, too, and pastrami sounds pretty good. He adds tomatoes, pesto, cheese and banana peppers, then throws both sandwiches in the toaster oven for a couple of minutes.

He hears the shower in the bedroom ensuite turn off just as the timer dings, and he pulls the sandwiches out, cuts them in half and sets them on plates on the table, pouring himself a glass of pomegranate juice.

He’d never had a pomegranate growing up. He’d only ever heard of them in stories. It wasn’t until he’d moved into the tower with the rest of the Avengers, and Bruce had been mixing the arils in with a salad that he’d even seen what the fruit looked like. And now, here he is, drinking a glass of commercially produced pomegranate juice.

He still refuses to eat bananas, though.

Tony comes into the kitchen, hair falling in damp waves over his forehead, skin pink and warm from the heat of his shower. He’s wearing a pair of low-slung sleep pants, and the way they sit on the crease of his hip tells Steve he’s not wearing underwear under them. He hasn’t bothered with a shirt or socks. Steve drinks him in from head to toe, his mouth going a little dry.

Tony leans over for a quick, smacking kiss before he takes his seat and digs into his sandwich.

“So, what’s with all the staging and cryptic shit?” Tony asks, moving his mouthful to the side so he can speak around it.

Steve takes a bite of his own, if only because the chewing will give him another few moments to compose himself and decide what he’s going to say.

He finishes chewing, takes a sip of his juice, and takes a deep breath.

“I watched your sex tape,” he says. It kind of surprises him – he’d meant to start off a little slower, work his way up to it.

Tony stops chewing for a moment, meeting Steve’s eyes. Steve feels the blush creep up his neck, into his cheeks. His ears burn with it.

In a few seconds, Tony finishes chewing his mouthful, then places his sandwich down on his plate and brushes a few crumbs off his hands. He reaches over and takes a sip of Steve’s juice.

“What made you decide to do that?” Tony asks.

It’s not the question Steve was expecting. He’d thought Tony would ask what he thought about it. If he enjoyed it. If he had a problem with it.

“I couldn’t – um, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About what you’d said. And the, uh, the cuffs you had in that box.”

Tony blinks at him, and then his shoulders hunch up a little. His gaze flicks to the glossy surface of the table, and he stares at it as though he can’t bring himself to meet Steve’s eyes. “Look, Steve, I’ve tried a lot of different things in bed, and I’ve liked most of them, but that doesn’t mean you have to –”

“I liked it.”

Tony’s eyes snap up to meet Steve’s again.

“You liked it?”

“I – yeah. I liked it. I want – I liked it.”

Tony’s eyes narrow. “When you say you liked ‘it’, what do you specifically mean by ‘it’?”

Steve takes a lungfull of air and ignores the fact that his entire face must be almost purple by now with the force of his embarrassment.

“I liked the thought of – of doing that. Of… of restraints. And stuff.”

Tony’s head tilts to the side. “Of restraining, or of being restrained?”

“Of… of restraining. You.”

“You liked the thought of tying me up.” It’s not a question, not really. More a way of seeking clarification.

Steve takes another full breath, and lets it out in a rush. “I liked the thought – I _like_ the thought of tying you _down_ ,” he says.

“Okay.”

“Wait, what? You don’t –”

“I said okay.”

“Just like that? You don’t want to think about it for a while?”

“Fuck, no,” Tony says. “My ridiculously attractive, sexually talented, enthusiastic boyfriend with little to no refractory period and a level of endurance that can only be possible by science wants to tie me down and have sex with me. There, I just thought about it, and I almost came. Now, let’s go do it.” Tony is already on his feet, pulling at Steve’s elbow, trying to drag him to the bedroom with a bright grin on his face.

“Wait – Tony, wait a minute,” Steve says, the words broken with a bit of a laugh as Tony puts as much strength behind the pull as he can, and Steve doesn’t even feel his balance shift. “We still – we still need to talk about this.”

Tony stares at him for a moment, then flops back into his chair with a huff. “I can’t believe I’m being cock blocked by my own boyfriend right now,” he mutters.

“I just want to talk about it. You really don’t think it’s – that it’s awful?”

“Um… no?”

“I just – I mean, I’m already bigger than you. Stronger than you.”

“That is a well-known fact,” Tony agrees.

“So me wanting to – to overpower you. To tie you down. To – to do those things to you… that doesn’t… you don’t think I’m… a bully?” The last word comes out barely a whisper. This is the thing Steve fears the most. It’s the thing he always worried about from the time the serum did its work to him. That he would use his enhanced strength, his size, to make someone else feel weaker or smaller.

Tony stares at the ceiling for a moment, then wipes a hand down his face dramatically. “Okay. Okay, we can have a serious conversation now, if that’s what you really want.”

“It is,” Steve says, managing, just barely, not to roll his eyes.

“Okay. So… you saw the cuffs and collar, and then you watched the sex tape. So you saw me tied down and having sex.”

“That’s – yes.”

“What did you like about it?”

“What?”

“I need to – look, Steve, I have done everything under the sun. I promise. Okay, not everything, there are some things I haven’t done, but it’s a short, very eclectic list. But anything you might want to do? I feel pretty safe in suggesting that I’ve done it, at least once. So I’m asking you what part of it you liked. Was it watching me struggle against the restraints? Was it watching the woman on the tape use me the way she did? Was it the way she slapped me? I’m asking this because I want to know what kinds of things you might be interested in. I’m willing to try all of them, so you’ll know if you like them as much as you like the thought of them, but I want a baseline to start with. Do you understand?”

Steve swallows and nods. “Okay. Okay, that’s fair. I, um, I did some other Googling, too. So I know what – what kinds of things you might – you might mean.”

Tony gives him a gentle smile, reaching across the table to wrap his fingers around Steve’s hand. He gives it a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

“You don’t have to be nervous, Steve. Or shy. I won’t think you’re weird or sick or wrong. I want you to be comfortable telling me how you feel, and then I’ll tell you how I feel about it, and we’ll go from there, okay?”

Steve meets his eyes, and he sees only encouragement there. There’s no ridicule, no distaste. Just love. It makes him feel better. More confident.

“Okay, so, I looked some stuff up,” he says, his voice a little steadier. “I looked up the different things that, um, that you can do, I guess, and what they’re called. And I don’t – I don’t think I want to try pain play. Whipping, or anything. That’s not – I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Okay. What _do_ you want to do?” There’s no judgement in Tony’s voice, and no disappointment. Steve’s glad – he probably would have agreed to hurt Tony if it’s what he wanted, but he’s glad it doesn’t seem to be necessary.

“I want,” Steve says, with another fortifying breath, “to overwhelm you.”

Tony doesn’t say anything, so Steve keeps going.

“I want to tie you down, put a collar around your throat, and make you lose your mind. I want to make you come again and again, until you’re mindless, until you can’t think about anything but me, until nothing exists but us. I want you under my complete control, doing everything I tell you to do, not because you _have_ to, but because you _want_ to. I want you to _want_ to give me everything, give me all of it, let me have you and take you apart, to drive you crazy.”

“You – uh – okay. That’s a, that’s a good start,” Tony says, and his voice is hoarse. Steve looks up, and Tony’s eyes are dark, his lips parted just a little, his chest rising and falling a little faster.

“I have – uh, I have something for you. In the bedroom,” Steve says, feeling nervous again.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you do,” Tony says suggestively.

Steve rolls his eyes, but he instantly feels more at ease. Tony always seems to know when to poke fun at him to make him relax. “Not that. Stay here, I’ll go get it.”

Tony leans back in his chair, giving Steve a once-over when he stands up. Steve doesn’t linger, he goes straight to the bedroom and picks up the gift box he’d placed on the bed, bringing it back to the kitchen. Tony has gone back to eating his sandwich, which makes Steve happy – Tony forgets meals all too often. He can usually be found snacking on something, on anything, really, but more often than not he replaces real meals with smoothies.

Sometimes, Steve doesn’t give a damn if the rest of the Avengers call him a mother hen behind his back. Sometimes, he just worries.

He places the simple box beside Tony’s plate, then picks up his own sandwich, which is mostly finished by now.

“Wow, a real, actual present and everything?” Tony says, reaching for it.

“You can open it when you’re done your dinner,” Steve says. He makes a point of putting steely authority into his voice – making it an order, not a request or even an admonishment. Just to try it on for size. To see how he feels about it, and to see how Tony reacts.

Tony’s whole body tenses, and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s, and Steve can see the desire there. He takes his hand back from the box and picks up what’s left of his sandwich without a word.

Seeing Tony’s reaction, the compliance and look of lust, is exactly what Steve had hoped it would be. It sends a spark of desire to his belly, makes his heart pound a little, and makes his throat dry.

He watches Tony for another moment, watching him take a bite from his sandwich and chew it, and then he reaches for his juice and takes a long swallow before picking up the last few bites of his own sandwich. He finishes it quickly, then watches Tony quietly polish off his own.

Tony doesn’t say anything, though. He stands up, reaches to take Steve’s plate and stacks it on his own before he takes them over to the sink. Then he comes back to the table and sits down, looking at Steve expectantly.

“Good,” Steve says, giving Tony a proud smile. “Thank you.”

Tony takes a shuddering breath. “I feel like I should tell you, I have a bit of a praise kink. So, you know, keep that in mind.”

“What does that –”

Tony gives him a wry grin. “It means that when you tell me I’ve done something right, it’s going to turn me on.”

Steve blinks at him. “Really? That’s a – that’s a thing?”

“Definitely a thing.”

“Okay. Okay, thank you for telling me.”

“So. Can I, uh, have my present now?”

Steve chuckles and reaches out for it, then immediately offers it to Tony.

As Tony works at the ribbon for a moment, and Steve starts to get nervous again. What if he doesn’t like it? What if that’s not what Tony wants?

Tony glances at him as he lifts the lid off the box and peers inside to look at the gift Steve had painstakingly chosen and ordered, despite his trepidations about ordering from the websites he’d been looking at over the past week.

The wide collar is made of a dark, supple leather. It’s not black, but more a rich, dark slate colour. The D-ring at the front is a brushed nickel, so it seems to absorb light more than reflect it. Attached to the D-ring is a slate leash, matching the collar perfectly. The stitching for both collar and leash are a rich red, as is the soft microfleece fabric on the inside of the collar to avoid chafing.

Tony stares at it, his whole body tense and unmoving.

“I don’t want to rush you, Tony. If you want to think about it, or talk about it some more –”

Tony’s head jerks up to face Steve head-on. “Steven Grant Rogers, I know this might be a bit of a shock to hear coming from Tony Stark, but let me tell you, right now, there is nothing I want more than to _stop talking.”_

Steve quirks an eyebrow.

“Oh my god. Steve,” Tony says, exasperation in his voice. He slides off his chair and swings one leg over Steve’s, straddling his lap. “I love it. I want it. Take me to _bed_ already.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, letting his hands settle on Tony’s hips, thumbs pressing lightly at the sharp hip bones there.

“ _Yes_ ,” Tony says, pressing his hips forward and ducking his head. Steve meets him, and their mouths clash in a sweet, hot kiss. Tony moans into it, and Steve surges to his feet, letting Tony wind his legs around Steve’s hips and holding Tony up by the backs of his thighs.

They don’t break their kiss as Steve carries Tony to the bedroom – if anything, it only gets more heated, and Tony starts pulling at Steve’s T-shirt, trying to get it up and off of him.

He only succeeds in getting it rucked up to his chest, because Steve can’t raise his arms without dropping Tony, and he absolutely refuses to let go of Tony until he has him where he wants him – prone and constrained in their bed.

Tony’s still got the collar and leash clenched in his fist, looped around Steve’s neck. Steve can feel it dangling down his spine, and all he can think is how that grey leather will look against Tony’s warm skin, especially by the light of the candles that are currently giving the room a soft glow.

Without letting Tony free of his hold, Steve kneels onto the bed and then knee walks into the middle of it before he finally tips forward and presses Tony’s back into the mattress. Tony lets out a moan, arms and legs tightening around Steve’s neck and hips. Steve reaches up, reaches back, and takes Tony’s arms, pulling them down and pressing them into the bed, hands locking around his wrists and pinning him there.

Tony makes a sound of need, hips grinding up. Steve can feel his cock, hard and hot and solid in his sleep pants, pressing up against Steve’s own.

Steve pulls back, eyes drinking in the sight of Tony, flushed and panting, lips slick and red from their kisses.

“God, Steve, please,” Tony moans.

Steve nuzzles into his neck, nipping and licking at the salty skin there, revelling in the goosebumps that raise in his wake. He works down, pressing a gentle kiss in the middle of the arc reactor, then moving to the side to suck and lick at one of Tony’s nipples. Tony’s back arches, and Steve can feel Tony’s wrists straining against his hold, trying to pull up, trying to get some leverage, but Steve keeps his hands locked there, keeps Tony still for him.

Tony’s writhing against him by the time Steve stops and leans back. He’s panting, and he lets himself look his fill of Tony, already looking so debauched and wild.

“Don’t move,” Steve says, hands still gripping like vises on Tony’s wrists. He lets the steel of authority back into his voice, snapping the order out.

Tony shudders and a whimper escapes his throat, but his whole body stills. Steve stays where he is for a moment, just drinking in Tony’s obedience, watching his body tremble with the effort of staying still.

Slowly, Steve releases Tony’s arms, and they stay where they are. He backs off, taking hold of Tony’s knees to unwind them from around his waist and press them to the mattress, splaying Tony’s legs wide. Tony still doesn’t move, eyes following Steve hotly.

Steve looks over him, hunger in his belly, and then reaches for the collar in Tony’s hand.

“That’s good, Tony. You’re so good for me.”

Tony moans, his chest shuddering in a breath, and his eyes flutter closed.

“I’m going to put this on you now, Tony. If that’s a problem, please tell me now.”

“Green,” Tony moans, straining his chin up to expose his throat.

Steve blinks. That… doesn’t actually fit the context of their conversation at all.

Tony must notice Steve’s not doing anything, because he opens one eye and trains it on Steve’s face.

“Right. Um. Red, yellow, green. Standard safeword procedure for sexual relations of the kinky variety, including bondage, domination, sadism, and their counterparts.”

Steve blinks. “Green… means go?”

Tony huffs out a breathless laugh. “Green means everything’s good. Yellow means you’re not sure, so we slow down and talk about it, and then decide. Red means stop, you’ve reached a limit or crossed a boundary you’re not comfortable with, so we stop and talk about it.”

“Okay. Okay, I can do that. You let me know, which colour,” Steve says, fingertips trailing down Tony’s abs.

“You, too, Steve,” Tony says with a gentle smile. “If we do something you’re not comfortable with, you can safeword, too. It goes both ways.”

Steve thinks about that. It seems fair. He can’t think of anything Tony could do that would make him want to stop this, though. But he can understand the sentiment.

“Okay. So. Collar?”

“Green,” Tony nods, eyes darkening again.

“I don’t have anything to tie you down with,” Steve says apologetically. “I wasn’t sure you’d agree to this, and I already got ahead of myself with the collar. I didn’t want to go any further until we’d talked.”

Tony grins. “You know that box that started this whole mess?” he asks, twitching up an eyebrow. “That box _might_ be in the top of my closet right at this very moment in time.”

“Wait, really? You kept it?”

“Well, it’s not the kind of thing you just send off to Goodwill, you know? I mean, who would do that?”

Steve can’t help but laugh at the mental image, then he grins down at Tony.

“You forgot about it, didn’t you?”

“Almost instantly,” Tony admits with a grin.

Steve gives him a grin back, and then lets his face grow serious. “Don’t move,” he orders, and Tony takes a rough breath in, but nods sharply.

Steve gets up off the bed and heads for Tony’s closet. He finds the box on the top shelf, and heads back into the room with it. He places it on the night stand and opens it up, pulling out the wrist cuffs. He glances under them to see what else is in the box. There are several things, but he’s not sure what a lot of them are.

“There should be some short leather belts in there,” Tony tells him. “They’ll attach to the bed and then the cuffs. Or, there’s a spreader bar that you can hook the cuffs to, that’s always fun.”

Steve blinks. Spreader bar – he recognizes the name. The image comes to his brain unbidden – the woman on her knees, with her chest and shoulders down to the ground, and her wrists locked into place beside her spread, cuffed ankles. Open and exposed and helpless.

He wants to see what Tony will look like, locked down and spread out, exposed for him.

“I – I want to try that,” Steve says, his voice a little rough. He swallows and tries again, trying to put more authority into his voice. “Take your pants off, and then get the spreader bar out of the box.”

Tony obeys immediately, shucking off his pants and leaning toward the box. His cock is still hard, bouncing against his belly as he moves, and Steve sits back to admire the view.

Tony comes up with the contraption – it’s black, with a stiff bar covered in neoprene, with four soft-looking buckling cuffs attached. It’s simple-looking, but Steve can imagine the end result and it makes the desire in his belly spike again.

Instead of having Tony get on his knees right away, though, Steve just reaches out and pulls him closer, taking the spreader bar out of his hand. Tony melts into the kiss, letting Steve decide how deep to make it.

Steve presses him back, not letting their lips part, until Tony is on his back on the bed, the collar on the pillow beside him and the spreader bar on the other side. Tony lets out a breathy noise, and Steve drags his teeth sharply across Tony’s full bottom lip. It turns the breathy sigh into an urgent moan, and Steve soothes it with his tongue for a moment.

Tony’s head pulls back, and he gasps for breath while Steve trails kisses across his jawline, down the column of his throat, nipping and sucking at his collar bone.

“God, Steve, you’re going to drive me crazy,” Tony groans, hips pushing up to try and get some friction.

“By the time I’m done, Tony, you’re not even going to know your own name,” Steve promises, dipping his tongue into Tony’s navel briefly before finally arriving at his hard cock. He sucks the head into his mouth and dips his tongue into the slit, gratified by the way Tony’s hips jerk and he lets out a shout.

He licks and sucks and teases at the head for a few moments before sliding his lips down, down, until the head of Tony’s cock bumps against the back of his throat, and then pulls up before repeating the motion. Tony’s head is thrashing from side to side, and his hands come down to bury themselves in Steve’s hair. Steve reaches up and takes Tony’s wrists in his hands, and pushes them to the side, pressing them into the mattress on either side of Tony’s hips, immobilizing them.

Tony moans and his hips jerk again. “Fuck, fuck, Steve, I’m gonna – shit, I can’t –”

Steve stops immediately, pulling up off Tony’s cock and pulling his head back, only keeping his hands where they are, holding Tony to the bed.

Tony whines, panting, staring down at Steve.

“Not yet,” Steve tells him with a sly grin.

“Oh, god, you’re gonna kill me,” Tony says, as if he’s just come to the realization. He doesn’t sound particularly upset, though.

When Tony seems slightly less as though he’s on the edge of coming, Steve gently releases his wrists.

“Don’t move,” he says, his tone hard, but not harsh. Tony jerks out a slight nod, not breaking eye contact.

Steve reaches for the collar.

“Christ, yes,” Tony says. Steve grins and unloops the buckle, leaving the leash attached.

“Colour?” Steve says, holding the collar in front of Tony’s throat but not yet wrapping it around.

“Green. Ridiculously green. So, so green.”

Steve ignores the babbling and loops the collar around Tony’s throat, gently threading the leather through the buckle and pushing the pin through one of the holes. It’s loose enough that he can slip two fingers in between the leather and skin without it pulling, but tight enough that it’s not hanging off Tony’s neck.

Steve’s cock twitches, his balls hot and heavy with desire. It’s perfect on Tony’s skin. The blue-grey tones of the slate colour contrast beautifully with the gold tones of Tony’s colouring, and Steve can see his pulse pounding just above the collar.

He finally tears his eyes away from the collar, from Tony’s throat, and looks up at his face.

Tony’s lips are parted, his breathing heavy. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded.

At the same time, his face is soft. As though all the whirling thoughts that make up Tony Stark have slowed, have reorganized and taken a pause so that Tony is completely in this moment, almost settled.

It’s breathtaking. Steve can only stare for long moments – and, as further evidence to his relaxation, Tony simply stares back, patiently waiting to see what Steve will decide to do next.

Letting Steve decide with no undue influence from him.

Steve feels a thrill at that. The power he has over Tony right now, and the way Tony is giving it to him willingly.

“How do you feel?” Steve asks him, his voice quiet, reverent.

“Good,” Tony says. He blinks, and his eyes clear a little, and one side of his mouth quirks up in a smirk. “Really fucking horny.”

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes, but it’s enough of a reality check to bring him back to the task at hand – namely, having sex with his boyfriend.

He shifts back, kneeling between Tony’s spread thighs, and covers Tony’s wrists with his hands, where they’re still positioned on the bed on either side of his hips. Then he leans forward and takes Tony’s cock into his mouth again.

Tony’s breath grows harsher almost instantly, and Steve can feel his thighs, his forearms, bunching with the effort of staying still while still trying to push back against Steve’s hold. He doesn’t give him any leverage, bobbing his head as far down as it will go and then sucking powerfully when he drags his head back up, tonguing at Tony’s slit, tangy with the taste of his arousal.

Steve looks up, and he’s captivated by the sight of Tony’s head arched back, the collar – _Steve’s_ collar – on his long, muscled throat.

He speeds up, letting Tony’s cock nudge at the back of his throat each time, until Tony’s head is thrashing, dragging air in roughly and crying out with each exhale, until Steve can feel his cock swell, pulse, almost there –

And then Steve backs off, pulls away, the only point of contact between them Steve’s hands on Tony’s wrists.

Tony spits out a harsh sound, full of disappointment and betrayal, jaw clenched and whole body vibrating with the need to come.

“Not yet,” Steve tells him, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of Tony’s thigh. “Shh, love, you’re okay.”

“Fuck,” Tony moans, eyes shining with want. He’s flushed, his hair damp with sweat, his skin glistening with it.

Steve continues to just watch him, letting him catch his breath. When he seems calmer, his tight belly trembling but not jerking with the force of his panting, Steve slowly lets go of his wrists.

“On your knees,” Steve tells him. Tony blinks at him, his gaze cloudy. He doesn’t move.

“Tony,” Steve says, putting a touch of steel into his voice. “Turn over and get on your knees.”

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Tony breathes, even as he scrambles, this time, to obey. He kneels in the middle of the bed, and then Steve puts a hand flat on his back, between his shoulder blades, and slowly pushes him forward. Tony puts his hands out and stays there on his hands and knees for a moment.

Steve lets his eyes roam, cataloguing the clean lines of the position, the solid, ropey muscles of Tony’s arms and legs, bulging with tension.

Steve reaches for the leash attached to Tony’s collar, and he drapes it down his back, straight along the line of his spine, so that it hangs down between his legs, over his hole, between his cheeks. Tony sighs, a noise of contentment and desire.

Steve cocks his head to the side, trying to decide what his next move should be. It comes to him almost immediately – he’s always been good at planning.

Steve reaches for a pillow from the head of the bed, and folds it in half, tucking it under Tony’s chest.

“Rest your chest on the pillow to protect your neck, and put your hands down between your knees,” Steve tells him, reaching for the spreader bar. His heart hammers with anticipation. He watches greedily as Tony obeys, turning his head to the side to look at Steve.

“That’s it,” Steve says, running his hand down the line of Tony’s hip and thigh. “That’s very good.” He moves behind him, carefully repositioning Tony’s knees so they’re spread further apart. He lines the spreader bar up, readjusts Tony’s ankles, and begins strapping him in. This time, instead of the gentle reverence, he’s locking Tony into the apparatus as clinically as he can make himself, going for efficiency rather that titillation.

He sits back and inspects his handiwork. Tony’s wrists are locked together between his ankles, his feet flexed, his calves and thighs tight. With his legs spread, Steve can see the leash resting along the curve of his lower back, hanging down in the crease of his ass. Steve reaches for it, and tugs the leash down slightly, so that the leather slides against the skin, and Tony lets out a moan.

“I want to see you with lace on your skin,” Steve murmurs as he presses a kiss to the back of Tony’s hip, hands stroking his thighs. The admission surprises even him – he hadn’t known he’d been thinking it until he’d seen the leather against Tony’s flesh, and now he wants to see him in other sultry fabrics. Silk, lace, anything.

Tony whines a little in the back of his throat, arching toward Steve’s touch. Steve lets his thumbs press into the inside of Tony’s thighs as he strokes his hands up and down, finally bringing his thumbs to the curve of Tony’s ass, the crease where it meets his thighs, and gently spreads his cheeks even further apart. Tony’s breathing is laboured, but he doesn’t make any more sounds for a moment. Steve lets go with one hand and moves the leash off to the side, so he can see Tony’s little pink hole.

It’s tight, a sweet little opening that Steve knows from experience will stretch to accommodate him, but at the moment it looks too small for anything. He leans forward, pulling Tony’s cheeks apart again, and lets his tongue slip along the cleft, tripping over the tight skin, feeling the flesh tremble and pulse under his lips and tongue. He kisses the skin – wet, open-mouthed kisses – and lets his tongue explore. Not pushing in, not yet, just touching, feeling.

Tony’s whole body is shaking. There’s something about this, when Steve eats him out, that drives Tony to the edge. Steve’s never been sure if it’s the sensations or the idea of it that gets him going so much, but whatever it is, Steve loves to watch him fall apart.

He keeps working, his tongue starting to press in now that Tony’s hole is relaxing, opening a little for him. Steve licks at the rim, then pushes in, letting his lips move and slide over hot, musky flesh. Tony’s breaths are a high-pitched keen, his toes are curled, his hands are fisted and clenched, and he’s trembling.

Steve doesn’t stop. He’s thrusting his tongue in earnest, now, and his hands move to the outside of Tony’s hips, up to his waist, holding Tony that way. Tony can’t move anyway, because of the spreader bar, but Steve wants to feel that sensation of holding him still, holding him there so that Steve can do whatever he wants.

“Steve, fuck, _Steve_ ,” Tony chants, taking in great gulps of air. “Please fuck me, God, please.”

Steve’s fingers trail back around to Tony’s thighs, gently petting at the fronts of them, then the sides, then the backs. His mouth keeps working, lips and teeth and tongue exploring Tony’s hole. It’s even more relaxed, looser now, opening for his tongue with every thrust.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Tony gasps, and Steve brings his hands back up to his cheeks, pressing his thumbs into the hot skin between his hole and his balls, rubbing and pushing so Tony can feel it inside, feel that little bit of pressure on his prostate, and he lets out a strangled yelp, jerking back into the touch and shaking like a leaf.

Steve reaches up, between Tony’s thighs, palming his balls, and then wraps his thumb and forefinger around the base of Tony’s cock, hard and straining, and, _squeezes_.

Tony cries out, even as Steve pulls back from his ass, face slick with his own saliva, and stares at the way Tony’s hole flutters, clenching as though trying to stay full. He pulls at the spreader bar, trying to pull his hands free, trying to spread his legs further – anything to try and get more sensation than the vise-like grip of Steve’s hand on his cock, keeping him from coming when he had been so, so close.

Steve holds fast, not touching Tony in any way, until he stops writhing, jerking against the cuffs, and starts to settle.

Steve strokes a hand down his hip. “Shh, Tony. You’re okay. You’re so good for me.”

Tony whimpers, huffing out a laugh that’s almost a sob. “Fuck,” he says, his voice a croak.

“You’re gorgeous like this. I’m not ready for it to be finished,” Steve admits, both hands stroking down Tony’s back now. Tony’s still shaking, breathing heavily.

“You’re going to kill me,” Tony says, but he doesn’t sound terribly distressed about it. “This is how I die. Right here, like this.”

Steve chuckles warmly, then, keeping one hand on Tony’s calf while he slides to the side of the bed, reaches into the bedside drawer for the bottle of lubricant there.

He moves back to Tony’s side, glancing at his face.

Tony’s eyes are dark, blown wide, his cheeks flushed. He looks completely debauched, wrecked, and Steve stares for a moment.

“You’re so pretty for me like this,” he says, his voice filled with awe. “I can’t believe – you’re so gorgeous. I can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

“Please, Steve. _Please_. You don’t have – you don’t have to stretch me, I’m loose, I’m ready. Just a little lube, please, I need you to fuck me.”

Steve’s heart pounds. He knows he should ignore Tony’s begging, that he should take his time and stretch his hole open. He doesn’t want to hurt Tony, never wants to hurt Tony, but he also wants to feel that hot tightness around him, the clench of Tony’s body as he tries to force himself to relax. Force himself to take Steve’s cock.

He pours a liberal amount of lube onto two fingers, then, with no preamble, presses both into Tony with a steady push. Tony moans, but he doesn’t flinch. If anything, he pushes back against the invading digits. Steve strokes him inside a few times, spreading the lube, then pours a little over Tony’s hole, slicking him up at the rim, and pulls his fingers out. Tony’s hole clenches down, trying to keep him in, and Steve pours more lube into his hand and slicks up his cock. The touch of his own hand on himself sends his pulse rocketing. He’d known the sight of Tony like this, the sounds he’d been making, the way he’d given himself over completely, had been turning him on, making him hard. But he’d had no idea how worked up he’d gotten, how neglected his own cock had been, until now.

“Please, please, please, please, please,” Tony is whispering, and Steve looks down to see his eyes clenched shut, his mouth open and panting, lips red and bitten. His skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his breath hitching as he trembles, trying to push his knees further apart despite the spreader bar.

Steve can’t deny himself any longer. Tony like this, so sweet and open and out of control, is too much for him to bear. He carefully gets up on his knees, resting his shins on the bar between Tony’s wrists and ankles, and lines himself up.

The first stretch of Tony’s hole around the fat head of his cock is nirvana. He’s still so tight, so hot, and Steve thinks it might be hurting him, might be too much for Tony to handle, but Tony is just moaning, babbling out “please” and “yes” and “god” so Steve keeps pressing in, seeing Tony stretch impossibly wide for him even as Tony pushes back, trying to take more of Steve into his body.

Steve goes slowly, pressing just a little at a time, taking a moment to dribble a little more lube over Tony’s hole, pulling out a little and then forward again to push it in, to slick his way.

“That’s it,” Steve says, voice gentle. “You’re so good, Tony. You’re so good for me.”

Tony whines, his hole relaxing a little more. Steve keeps pushing forward, something about the way Tony struggles to take him with no real prep, besides the rimming, touching something in his mind, making everything seem brighter and hotter and filthier.

He finally gets all the way in, his hip bones pressing into the flesh of Tony’s rump, his balls lightly pressed up against Tony’s own. They stay there, still for a moment and breathing hard, while Tony’s hole clenches and releases, fluttering, trying to relax.

“That’s it,” Steve says, encouraging as he pets down Tony’s ribcage, trying to settle him. Tony whimpers again.

“What’s your colour, Tony?” Steve asks, hands still gently petting at Tony, not moving even though his cock is crying for it. “Are you okay?”

“Fuck, Steve, this is so good. Definitely green. Please, please fuck me. I need to come, I need to come so bad.”

Steve carefully pulls back, groaning a little at the slick drag of friction as Tony’s tight hole clenches, trying to keep from losing that fullness. He doesn’t stop, pulls all the way out, watching intently as Tony’s hole stretches around the head again, slowly closing most of the way once Steve’s entirely out. Tony whines, and Steve just stares at how his hole is just a little open, fluttering and silently begging to be filled again.

He pushes in again, steadily until he’s bottomed out once more, and then he starts thrusting in earnest. He places one hand on Tony’s back, between his shoulder blades, pressing his chest down onto the bed, the pillow folded there, which tips his ass up a little. Tony lets out a long, low keening sound as Steve tips his hips, changing the angle a little to press Tony open more, slide and grind against his prostate as Steve pulls back almost all the way out, thrusting in again, holding Tony down while he fucks him.

Soon, he makes his strokes even longer, so that he _is_ pulling all the way out, watching Tony’s open hole flutter and tremble, slick with lube, slightly red and irritated at the stretch and pull of Steve’s wide cock. He thrusts back in, revelling in the way Tony stretches around him each time. He almost feels like he’s having an out-of-body experience, looking down at the bed, at Tony open and held down for him by the spreader bar, of his own hips thrusting, pushing, fucking into Tony’s body.

“Please, please, Steve, so good,” Tony whimpers, hips thrusting back to meet each stroke.

“That’s it, Tony. God, you’re so gorgeous. Look at you. You’re all mine, aren’t you? Tied down and helpless and I can do whatever I want to you. I can fuck you however I want, can’t I?”

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Tony says, arching his back.

“That’s good. You take it so well. Like you were made for my cock.” The words make Steve’s cheeks heat a little. He’s not used to speaking to Tony like this, but if the way Tony writhes and pants at the words is any indication, it’s good for him.

“Please, Steve, god, let me – I need to come, please, can I – fuck – can I come?”

The words make Steve’s hips jerk, thrust harder, grind deeper. He’s been controlling Tony’s orgasm all night, not letting him come – letting him get to the edge, right to the very edge, but not letting him tip over it. But to have Tony ask for it, ask for permission… no, he’s _begging_ for it, _begging_ Steve to let him come, and that’s more intense, more thrilling, than anything they’ve done tonight.

“You want to come on my cock?” Steve asks, blushing at the way his voice sounds, dirty and filthy and gruff. “Is that what you want, Tony?”

Tony wails, letting out a sob. Steve glances down and sees that Tony’s eyes are locked on his, face twisted in pleasure as he tries to thrust back harder.

“That’s good, Tony. You’re so good. Just another – just another minute,” he groans, speeding up his hips, knowing it’s a lot to ask of Tony, to try not to come yet, but he wants to feel Tony clenching around him and milking his cock as he comes. He speeds up his thrusts, pushing in deeper, making sure to hit Tony’s prostate as often as possible, until Tony can’t help but squeeze down on him, his channel slick and hot and tight, and Steve cries out, hands gripping at Tony’s hips and pulling him back, hard into his hips so he can grind in. He’s coming, his vision white and full of stars, feeling Tony getting even slicker inside from Steve’s come. Then Tony’s crying out, clenching and twisting and shuddering through an orgasm that looks so intense, his back bowing and his eyes rolling back.

Steve keeps thrusting, through Tony’s aftershocks, watching him tremble and shake and shudder as they both try to catch their breath, until Steve’s cock softens and slides out.

Tony’s hole is loose and open, slick with lube, and a little bit of Steve’s come slipping out. Tony’s still moaning, body shaking, as Steve quickly unbuckles the spreader bar, rubbing at Tony’s wrists and ankles with strong thumbs while he releases them. He gently pulls Tony over onto his side, helping him shift his arms up and rubbing at his shoulders, which must be tight and sore.

Tony looks up at him, eyes dazed, cheeks wet with what could be tears. His pupils are dilated, eyes shining but unfocused.

“Tony? Are you okay?”

“Oh, god, Steve, that was – Jesus, you’re so good at that. Fuck, we’re buying all the bondage toys,” Tony slurs, nuzzling his face into Steve’s hip. Steve chuckles, pressing a kiss to Tony’s temple before he reaches for the wet wipes in the night stand. He carefully wipes Tony’s come off his belly and chest where it had spurted, and gently wipes at Tony’s hole, which must be sore, but Tony just lays there, blissed out.

“This is – oh, wow, this is subspace. I didn’t think I’d ever get here again, fuck,” Tony says, giggling a little.

“Subspace?” Steve tosses the wipe away and lays down, gathering Tony in close to him, wrapping himself around his back. He lets his fingers explore the collar, still around Tony’s throat.

“It’s, um, an endorphin thing. Almost like a high. It’s very… floaty,” Tony says, explaining. “It’s nice.”

“Good,” Steve says, laying gentle kisses across Tony’s face.

“How – how are you?”

“I’m… god, Tony. That was more… more than I ever thought. You’re beautiful. I want to have you like this all the time.”

“You can,” Tony says, tilting his chin up for a gentle, deep kiss. “You always can.”

“Sleep, now,” Steve tells him. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Tony says, already slipping off to sleep.

Steve watches his face relax, watches his muscles twitch as he falls asleep, then closes his eyes to follow, once he’s satisfied that Tony is relaxed and completely out.

He can’t help but wonder what other equipment they could buy. What else he could do to Tony, to drive him wild with need and desperation.

He kind of can’t wait to find out.


End file.
